Gig Harbor Washington to Bar Harbor Maine 2001

I've dreamed a lot on this trip. In the last week or so I've hung out with John Lennon and Eric Clapton and been the center of a very weird plot on ER/St. Elsewhere. But last night I dreamed of different ways to get warm, most involved having a car. The Weather Channel had threatened record breaking cold of 45 to 50. When I got up this morning it was 50 inside my tent. Guess I shouldn't have sent home my sleeping bag and polar fleece jacket. I wore my thick tights and long sleeve jersey and zipped up my fleece sleeping bag liner and pulled it over my head. I was still freezing. The thermometer got down to 46 this morning outside of my tent.

We were on the road about 7:30, after some hot tea with our cereal. I was still wearing my thick tights and long sleeve jersey, plus my rain pants and jacket. After the sun hit me and I climbed a few hills, I started shedding clothes. I enjoyed the opportunity to moon New England and change out of my tights, but New England didn't notice. I didn't bother wearing shorts over my tights and I thought they were a little revealing, even as thick as they are. When I went through the construction zone and the flagger lady said, "Nice" as I passed, I knew she was talking about my bike but a little self-deception never hurt anybody.

According to the route map elevation profile, today's climbs would be only two hills, but they would be much higher and much less steep. It was right. After climbing 1500 feet or so on the first hill, and flying back down again, I was hungry for protein. The donuts and cereal for breakfast didn't do it for me. I hoped for a restaurant in North Woodstock like I'd lucked into the last two days. Turned out there were plenty of restaurants to choose from and thousands of tourists to compete with. I had a pretty good omelet, but it just didn't have the character of the pancakes at Osceola or the venison sausage at Hancock.

Climbing

I barely had time to digest before beginning Kancamagus Pass. This was a traditional pass, a long, slow climb up about 2000 feet with only a few opportunities to practice Lamaze. There were a number of opportunities to take a break and a picture. I stopped at Beaver Pond and walked back a trail to take a picture and a leak. I noticed a lot of toilet paper, then I noticed a sign proclaiming this some town's water supply. I think a port-a-potty would be a good investment. A 74 year-old retired electric lineman came by to walk his dog. He'd done a lot of backpacking, but never bike touring. He told me about all the hikes in the area, including the one to a wrecked WWII plane that he'd never seen. As I left he was telling others all about my bike trip.

I got to a scenic overlook that seemed too soon for the summit, but seemed like the summit anyway. I took some pictures and put my jacket on. The wind was cold, like it always is at the top, and the descent would be icy. Unfortunately, there was another 500 feet to climb, roasting in my jacket. I finally took it off at a flat spot. I was pleased to see a real pass sign with elevation. I hadn't had a reference point to set my altimeter to since Glacier Park. The storms of the past few days had thrown it way off.

Kancamagus Pass

I'd just started the descent when I saw another good overlook. A couple of old geez (like me) day bikers were there. One had done the Southern Cross route, from San Diego to Florida, in the early spring. He said that he had a couple of 100 degree days in the desert, but the rest was comfortable. The worst hills were the Texas Hill Country! Couldn't be as bad as Vermont and New Hampshire.

Screamed down the rest of the descent without too much interference from cars, except the assholes who like to get right next to you and blast their horns. I guess it's a New England greeting. I'd like to give them a car horn suppository. It was about a 6 mile drop followed by another 15 miles of losing more elevation than I gained.

Then I entered Conway. We had tentatively agreed to stay in Conway, since it would be Friday afternoon and all drivers everywhere are rushing somewhere else on Friday afternoon. I had also checked with a campground that assured me we would have a spot. I checked messages and Mike had been in the same spot less than a half hour before and the town looked full and he was going on. Well, maybe, but first I was going to do laundry and get some food. I started the wash and went back to a Mexican restaurant I'd seen. I was hoping for carne asada, or something with a lot of beef. Hills like these are so hard on your muscles that only lots of protein will help. Unfortunately, the closest I could get was a buffalo fajita burrito. It was pretty good, but filled with jalapenos, too many of which can be disastrous the next day on a bike. They charged me for each glass of iced tea, too.

I had a nice talk with a mountain biker at the laundry. He thought the recumbent was cool, but I was reminded again that you just don't appreciate the comfort of lounge chair biking until you're an old fart.

I hadn't heard back from Mike by the time the laundry was done. This area is such a tourist mecca, especially on the weekend, that I made a reservation at a motel in the next town before leaving the certainty of a campsite. I only had about 10 miles to go and an hour and a half of sunlight left, so I headed off into Friday night rush hour traffic. It was horrible, but I didn't really care anymore. My phone rang and I made a high speed emergency stop in the gravel. Missed it. Got back up to speed and heard it again. Caught it this time. Mike was at a payphone about a mile down the road, at the Maine border. He'd found a campsite by a river that was only occasionally used by canoe campers. It didn't have water or showers, but had a clear cool stream. He jumped in to bathe and thought it was right up my alley. The stream sounded wonderful, but another night of freezing in my tent kept me rolling to my motel.

The motel was a real dive. A strip of 7 rooms next to a little store run by everyone in the family. A kid was sitting out back of the store breaking down cardboard boxes as I rode up. I think he could get one flattened in about 15 minutes.

All I wanted to do when I got to my room was soak in a bath. First I had to clean the hair out of the drain and toss it in the trash can with the other garbage. The tub had a sandpaper sheet gizmo glued to the bottom. I figured I'd put the bath mat on it to protect my sore butt. No bathmat. In fact, no towels. I went back to the store to ask for towels, They all looked at the kid who'd been flattening boxes. Cleaning rooms was his job, all he'd managed to do was make the bed.

So I laid the bathmat in the bottom of the tub and waited for the water to get hot. And waited and waited. Back to the store. This time they got Dad out. I waited an hour or so and there was hot water. I practically scalded myself. I tried to read my book, but was too tired to concentrate. Called Lisa and nearly dropped the phone in the tub. Got out and started writing this up. Only got a little ways into it when I gave up. I'm writing this tomorrow.